The Adventures of Tom Leigh (14 page)

“It was only Jeremy, sir. The pedlar stood by and watched—oh! and he put on his coat,” I cried, remembering. “Sir Henry, I—”

“How did you escape from Jeremy?”

“Sandy the cat sprang at him—he hates Jeremy—he clawed the back of Jeremy's neck and Jeremy took his hands from me in order to defend himself, and I rolled clear. But the pedlar stood aside—he cannot touch a cat—he put on
his coat—he had thrown aside his coat before. And I cut this,” I said eagerly, trying to reach inside my jacket. “Harry, help me! I have a piece of lining I cut from the pedlar's coat. He threw off his coat beside the tenter, to help Jeremy, and he tore his finger, and I cut a piece of lining—”

“Robert,” Sir Henry nodded to the groom.

The man put his hand inside my jacket and fumbled for the pocket; this was agony for my arm, but I endured greater agony in my mind when it seemed for a moment as if he could not find the piece of stuff. However, presently his hand fell on it and he drew it out and passed it to Sir Henry.

“A jagged piece,” said Sir Henry thoughtfully, fingering it. “Why did you cut it this strange shape, Tom?”

His tone was kinder, and I felt heartened.

“It was because of the indentures, sir,” I said. “You said—you cut a jagged edge—so that—only that one piece would fit the other.” I sighed despairingly, unable to find the right words.

“I understand your meaning, Tom,” said Sir Henry. “You shall confront these men when I have them in my hands, and we shall see which of you are rogues. Put the stuff back within his coat, Robert. Bring the piece of lining with you when you are summoned, Tom. But keep it hidden and say nothing of it till I call on you.”

He left the room, and Robert began the painful process of setting my arm. Harry helped me through this by sitting beside me and offering me his hand to grip; I set my teeth and clung to it with all my power and managed not to cry out, though I was hard put to it and sweat rolled down my forehead.

When it was over and my arm strapped across my body I lay back on the pillows for a while and the groom brought me a drink of wine—very sour stuff I thought it but it restored my spirits to some extent. The groom went away, leaving Harry and myself alone together, but we hardly
knew what to say to each other and sat silent, grinning occasionally. I think I slept a little from exhaustion. Then the groom came back and said:

“You're to come now, Tom Leigh.”

I rolled off the bed with Harry's help, and he took my right arm—Robert made to hold me on the left but I could not bear to be touched on that side—and helped me down the stairs and along the passage, and touched my shoulder gently and said:

“Good luck, Tom.”

He opened the door and I stumbled in.

It was a kind of repetition of what had happened when I was apprenticed, and for a moment I felt confused, uncertain whether it was then or now. Then I saw Jeremy and the pedlar standing before Sir Henry's table, with Mr. Swain and Mr. Gledhill at their shoulders, and the back of my neck prickled, and I remembered all that had happened that night, and my anger rose hot and strong and I held myself firmly. It was just coming dawn, and the light was chill and wan. Jeremy looked dirty and hangdog, with blood about his shirt collar, but the pedlar was spruce and jaunty, as usual.

“Oh, Tom, Tom!” said he, shaking his head at me. “Oh, Tom Leigh! To think that you should come to this! That a lad like you should set about to rob so good a master! That I should see you engaged in a felony!”

I was so astonished that I gaped at him, speechless.

“A felony, you think?” said Sir Henry quietly.

He was dressed now, and wearing his wig, and looked extremely grave and like a magistrate, and spoke in a much more severe and weighty tone than on the day of my apprenticeship. The pedlar seemed somewhat taken aback, and said hastily in his mincing tones:

“I am unfamiliar with legal terms, your worship.”

“Humph!” said Sir Henry.

It seemed to me that he thought just the reverse, namely that the pedlar was altogether too familiar with legal terms
for a man who had never crossed the law, and that the pedlar perceived this.

“Now, pedlar, let us hear your story of the night's happenings. First, your name, your place of abode, your occupation.”

“My name is Anthony Dyce. I have no permanent place of abode save my brother's house in Cheapside, London. I hold a pedlar's licence.”

“Show it to me.”

The pedlar handed a sheet of paper to Sir Henry, who examined it carefully.

“It is in order. Now, your story.”

“With great respect, Sir Henry, would it not be well to hear the boy's tale first, so that—”

“So that he can fit his tale to mine,” I thought angrily, but I said nothing.

“Don't keep me waiting, my man,” said Sir Henry shortly.

“As your worship pleases. Well, earlier in the day I was at Upper High Royd and received an order for a pair of woollen mittens for the young lady of the house.”

“Gracie,” put in Jeremy.

The pedlar scowled at him.

“They were to be knitted to include her name—either her name or the first letters of her name,” said the pedlar smoothly. “Later in the day when I came to reflect on the matter, I could not remember which it was to be. So I returned to Upper High Royd to make enquiry.”

“On your first visit to Upper High Royd today, did you bring a message to Mrs. Firth that her father was ill?”

“Not a message,” replied the pedlar. “Oh, no; not a
message
. It was common talk in Almondbury, and as such I repeated it.”

“Mr. Firth and his wife and daughter then left the house as a consequence of your repeating it?”

“They left the house,” agreed the pedlar with an air of being very particular as to the truth of all he said.

“You returned later, knowing they had left the house?”

“I returned later to enquire about the mittens.”

“But there would be nobody there able to answer you?”

“Jeremy and the boy were both present when the mittens were ordered.”

“So far your tale is weak,” said Sir Henry sternly. “Continue.”

“Jeremy and I were sitting by the fire, engaged in a few minutes' talk about the mittens, when we heard a noise outside. We ran out, and saw the boy Thomas Leigh pulling off a piece of cloth from the tenters. Jeremy sprang forward and bade him desist; the boy struck him and ran away. We followed, and to our astonishment tracked him to your mansion.”

“How did Jeremy Oldfield obtain those long scratches on the back of his neck and head?”

“Ah, that was the cat, which sprang on him. Tom Leigh, I fear, set the cat on to Jeremy by hissing to it.”

“You did not assist in the pulling of the cloth from the tenters?”

“I, sir? Certainly not.”

“And you, Jeremy Oldfield, did you pull the cloth from the tenters with intent to steal it?”

“No, it were t'lad,” said Jeremy uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other.

“You, Anthony Dyce, do you affirm you did not kneel beside the tenters and help to pull off the cloth?”

“Yes, indeed. I have no skill with tenters,” said the pedlar, smiling.

Sir Henry looked at me.

“They locked me in the workshop. I climbed out by the taking-in place and saw them both taking the cloth off the nails of the tenter,” said I.

“Mr. Gledhill,” said Sir Henry. “You proceeded to Upper High Royd tonight at my request. What did you find there?”

“The tenters were bare of cloth, the taking-in doors were open.”

“Open?” exclaimed the pedlar and Jeremy together. The pedlar gave Jeremy a very sour glance.

“Open,” repeated Mr. Gledhill firmly. “Jeremy Oldfield was in bed, however, apparently asleep.”

“I
was
asleep,” said Jeremy peevishly.

“Was the door of the workshop locked, as Thomas Leigh states?”

“No.”

“Ah, Tom,” said the pedlar, shaking his head at me: “How could you tell such shocking lies?”

“Jeremy could easily have unlocked it on his return to Upper High Royd,” said Mr. Gledhill.

“So that proves nothing,” said Sir Henry thoughtfully.

“Nobody denies that Tom Leigh climbed out of the house by the taking-in place,” said the pedlar swiftly. “He did so to avoid being seen by Jeremy and myself, no doubt.”

“I saw you both taking the cloth from the tenters,” I repeated. “It was moonlight and I hid in the shadow of the wall.”

Jeremy moistened his lips uneasily, but the pedlar gave an airy laugh.

“I suppose you recognised me by my scarlet stockings?”

“No,” I said. I was surprised by my own answer, but it was the truth. I had not noticed the pedlar's stockings that night until now. I felt perplexed and cast down, but then I saw a frown cross the pedlar's face; he was vexed by my answer; why?

“They would not show scarlet in the moonlight!” I cried.

“What a clever lad you are, Tom Leigh! Altogether too cunning for your own good,” sneered the pedlar.

“I simply tell the truth,” I cried, turning back to Sir Henry. “I challenged the pair of them, Jeremy sprang at me and knocked me down, while I was trying to hold him off the pedlar kicked my arm and broke it.”

“Tut tut tut! Such lies from one so young!”

“The boy was always a fighter,” muttered Mr. Swain disagreeably.

“You deny the attack, pedlar? Am I to take it, then, that the boy's arm was broken in the struggle with Jeremy Oldfield?” enquired Sir Henry shrewdly.

“Nay! It wasn't me,” began Jeremy.

The pedlar, as I saw but I think the others did not, kicked him sharply on the ankle with his heel, and he fell silent.

“Mr. Swain, I asked you to search for the pedlar and bring him to me,” said Sir Henry. “Where did you find him?”

“In the Fleece Inn, drinking with the host,” said Mr. Swain. “At least, that was the appearance. He seemed, however, a trifle breathless.”

“That was the ale,” cackled the pedlar.

“Did he offer any resistance to coming to the magistrate?”

“None at all. He jested all the way here, but tried to pick my brains as to what had happened.”

“Anthony Dyce, remove your coat,” said Sir Henry suddenly.

The pedlar stared.

“Take off your coat!” thundered Sir Henry. “Or shall I call my men to take it from you?”

The pedlar held up his hand.

“Do not have me touched, I beg. Since you desire it, Sir Henry, I will remove my coat myself.”

Slowly and nonchalantly, with elegant gestures, he removed the coat.

“Spread it out on the table, with the lining on the outside.”

With a graceful turn of his hand the pedlar threw it down as requested.

“Tom,” said Sir Henry, beckoning me.

I stepped forward, drew the piece of lining from within my jacket, and placed it over the hole which showed plainly in the skirt of the pedlar's coat. It was not quite easy to do with one hand, but after a little fumbling I managed. I rejoiced to see how the piece fitted into the hole exactly,
and matched the rest of the lining in silky texture and green colour.

“Where and when did you obtain this piece of the lining of the pedlar's coat?”

“Beside Mr. Firth's tenters—the pedlar threw off his coat and knelt down to help Jeremy take off the cloth—I cut the piece out with my scissors,” I said, drawing them from my pocket.

There was a moment's pause, then the pedlar broke into a roar of laughter.

“You young devil! I never heard a better story!” he cried.

“How do you explain the jagged piece which fits your coat?”

“Nay, how should I know?” said the pedlar cheerfully. “I suppose I may have laid my coat aside in the house while talking with Jeremy, because of the heat of the fire. There was a big fire on the hearth, I seem to remember.”

“That's right,” said Jeremy—and for once he spoke truth.

“You think the boy could have come downstairs and cut a piece out of your coat, under your very nose?”

“I would not put anything beyond the reach of that young devil,” said the pedlar. “He is as clever as a load of monkeys.”

“Where is the blue cloth, then?” said I, stubbornly.

“You tell us where you have hidden it,” laughed the pedlar.

“Sir Henry, the cloth was still partly on the tenters when I ran away,” I said. “And when Mr. Gledhill reached Upper High Royd, it was all gone. There were eighteen yards. I have never carried a whole piece of cloth, sir.”

“So you say,” said Mr. Swain.

“Where would the boy sell the cloth? The pedlar has every opportunity to sell it,” said Mr. Gledhill.

“Well, gentlemen, what do you think of the evidence?” said Sir Henry.

“It is either those two or the boy. Both boy and pedlar were in Barseland the night my cloth was stolen,” said Mr. Swain.

“Eighteen yards, think on, Swain,” said Mr. Gledhill.

“Aye, the whole piece.”

“The boy could not have carried it far.”

“True. But he could have hidden it.”

“But there is the piece of lining, Sir Henry,” persisted Mr. Gledhill.

“We shall see when Stephen Firth returns, whether the message taking him away was false or no,” said Sir Henry.

“If it was false, then I say the pedlar was guilty,” said Mr. Gledhill stoutly. “And if he is guilty, Jeremy Oldfield is his accomplice.”

“It was not a message,” said the pedlar. “Just something I had heard. As for the boy's arm, he attacked Jeremy Oldfield and I defended him. If the arm got broken, it is his own fault.”

“The boy was always ready at fighting,” repeated Mr. Swain.

“Hold Oldfield and the pedlar in custody, and send a messenger to Firth,” decided Sir Henry. “I will keep the boy here till Firth returns.”